To whomever finds this scroll,

Please remember me.

I’ve enclosed a copy of my map with this letter. The villagers mock me still, dismissing it as folly—claiming the island is nothing but a legend. But I know it exists. My grandfather believed in it, as did those who came before him.

I nearly abandoned the search once. But something always pulled me back—a quiet, relentless tug in my bones. That island is real. I can feel it.

I had to uncover the truth.

I had to understand why so many of our kin never returned. First my grandfather… and now my father.

I ask only this: remember what I’ve done.

Should I never return to recount what I have uncovered, know that this journey was not taken lightly. I fear the path ahead is riddled with peril. And so, I have left this map behind—should someone with enough courage come seeking me.

I heard it. The call.

The siren’s song rose from the waves—one that stirs the marrow, that stuns the stars into stillness. As a man of science, I sought reason. Could it be that this creature—this phantom of the tides—guards the secret of the Fountain of Youth like she spoke?

I scoffed at tales of sirens once. But each full moon, as I drifted farther into these forbidden waters, she would appear.

She bore wings like a bird gliding above the sea’s edge. Yet as she neared the shallows of the continental shelf, her form would shift—transfigured into that of a woman: ethereal, otherworldly, and beautiful. She followed my explorations in silence, never stepping upon the sand, never drawing near enough to touch. I do not know why.

She never harmed me. In truth, I began to wonder if she were a mermaid—or some old god dressed in myth.

But then she spoke.

She told me of her kind—how her sisters dragged ships beneath the foam, lured men with honeyed voices into oblivion. She told me of blood and bone scattered across the seafloor.

And then—one night—she spoke of the Fountain.

She knew. She knew of the itch that stirs in my blood, the same obsession that haunted my ancestors. She whispered of an island that holds it—guarded by her kin. Not all who seek it are welcome.

And yet… I go.

You may think I'm mad—for following a siren, for believing in myth when I was trained to seek facts. Perhaps I am. Does that make me a poor scientist?

Or simply… human?

Her song spoke not only of danger, but of wonders—beauty that bruises the soul. She told me something no map ever dared reveal: my father made it. He reached the island. He’s there. Still fighting. Still waiting—for someone to help him rise against the very creatures that lured him in.

I’ve seen ships dragged into the abyss, their wooden bones shattered beneath the waves. I’ve heard sailors whisper their fears like prayers. I once journeyed with fellow scientists, but some never returned. Some vanished in still waters; others died with terror glazed upon their eyes—struck, they said, by the "kiss of death."

I never claimed to be as brave as my father.

But she saved me—again and again.

The siren who once haunted my fears now stands at my side as my unlikely companion across this endless sea. She has rescued me from drowning, from starvation, from madness. And I believe—no, I know—that she means no harm.

I seek the Fountain not for immortality, nor for glory, but for truth. To know if the legends are more than mere echoes. To understand why she—this strange, sorrowful being—chose me.

Why does she reveal her human form to me, barefoot on the wet shore, and not pull me into the deep like so many others? Why show me her softness, her sorrow? Why me?

There must be a reason.

And I mean to find it.

If I fail to return, if you choose to follow where I have gone, know this: she will guide you, just as she guided me. But you must earn her trust. Do not deceive her. She is kind—but to those who harm her or her kin, she is merciless.

I stepped into the sea.

I have lost count of the days. My ship still holds. She is still with me. She brings food, finds shelter, even hums when I am too tired to think.

Do I regret it?

No. Regret belongs to those who never dared to try.

If you are reading this,

Please—remember me.

And if the wind ever carries my name to the ears of future adventurers, know this: I will not stop seeking truth until my final breath.

To find the island, follow this riddle, as told to me by the siren:

Mark the X where moonlight sways,
At summer’s eve and ocean’s praise.
Stack three stones in silent prayer,
Etch your name with humble care.

When midnight calls and tide runs deep,
She’ll rise from where the secrets sleep.